


from the gentle grip (of night's unfolding arms)

by ryseling



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Touch-Starved, no beta we die like fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryseling/pseuds/ryseling
Summary: Touch is just as alien to Vanitas as light is.





	from the gentle grip (of night's unfolding arms)

**Author's Note:**

> I basically wrote this as stress relief, so apologies if it seems a little rushed or incoherent. I might expand this into a series later on, who knows. For now, though, it's just this.
> 
> Title is from "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound.

Being human was... strange.

 

It was strange, and new, and for the first few weeks after he’d been brought back, all he could do was hide himself away, stick to the shadows and the dark, empty places where none of the others would see him. That, at least, was familiar. Before, it had been about waiting and watching for the right moment to strike, to say or do the right thing to put Xehanort’s plans into action, and bring himself closer to the end that he was certain he was destined for. After _that_ was torn away from him, he was adrift. Given a vessel and brought into the light, he couldn’t even summon his Unversed when he felt any alien surges of emotion in his chest, everything horribly overwhelming and unfamiliar, even when curled up alone in the dark, like he was used to being.

 

Of course it was Ventus who found him. His other half must have been drawn to him, because when he raised his head at the sound of the door opening and saw Ventus standing there in all his pure, golden glory, something inside of him _lurched_ so hard that he almost flung himself up off the floor, a longing he hadn’t quite been aware of before sharpening to something acute and poignant. The stricken look on Ventus’s face had been more than enough to sober him, though. He tried to drive Ventus away - if he wasn’t going to merge with him, if he wasn’t going to end his existence, then what good was he? He spat ugly, venomous things, anything to make his light half leave, but each syllable tasted like ash on his tongue, and he thought Ventus could tell.

 

He stayed. He edged closer, subtly at first, until it was impossible to ignore, and by then the protests had stopped being translated as anger, leaving only confusion and repulsion, both of which somehow didn’t seem to deter Ventus at all.

 

Ventus coaxed him out of the dark. It was far too bright for him, at first, but Ventus was nothing but encouraging, eagerly drawing him into small, harmless competitions with him - trivial little things that he protested were a waste of time, but that he caved to time and time again since that, at least, was somewhat familiar. Then, it was Ventus showing him around Radiant Garden, pointing out pretty, inane things like sunsets or clouds in the sky or flowers just beginning to grow up out of the earth. Then, it was Ventus slowly, almost painstakingly introducing him to the others, allowing him to get used to their presence and them to get used to his, even through all the shakiness and uncertainty and suspicion. Then, it was taking him back to the Land of Departure with him, with _them_ , despite all he had done to the three of them, despite all the bad memories he had created in the home they now welcomed him into. Then, it was Ventus somehow teaching him how to _smile_ , something he’d never known himself to be capable of, not with genuine joy or amusement behind it; not something that happened so _naturally_ when he saw Ventus and Roxas exchanging mischievous looks during a trip to Twilight Town, and circling around Lea like Siamese cats slinking around the legs of a fancy chair, leaving the poor redhead near-frantically looking between them with increasing fluster and frustration. He had never expected to be caught smiling when Ventus glanced back towards him, never expected the way the curve of his mouth wavered but somehow grew when he saw the expression on Ventus’s face go slack with surprise before morphing to something so unbearably bright and warm that it made the inside of him ache.

 

Now, it was Ventus touching him.

 

He hadn’t known what it would do to him before it happened. They’d touched _before_ , when Ventus was still his enemy, merely a means to his own end, but also since then, in the light that he’d been brought into, though those touches had been different, accidental bumps of their shoulders as they walked down a corridor or knocks of their knees when they sat opposite one another in the dining hall. This wasn’t like that. Ventus smiled at him, smaller and almost uncertain, but still with that strange warmth he always (confusingly) seemed to regard him with, before carefully, carefully lifting one of his hands to run his fingers over his darker half’s forehead. Brushing his bangs back.

 

Vanitas froze at the contact. Every muscle he had simultaneously pulled taut at once. He jerked away from Ventus involuntarily, his breathing suddenly harsh.

 

The skin where Ventus had touched him _burned_. But it wasn’t the same as the sort of burn he used to feel, when he was envious, or frustrated, or furiously lonely - not even the same as the burn he felt when he was too slow during training, when Xehanort hadn’t bothered to be gentle with him when using his magic. This sort of burn was strange and new, leaving a sensation like tingling living inside his skin, a constant reminder that he had felt skin against his own, if only for a split second, and it _hadn’t hurt_.

 

“...Vanitas?” The voice of the other boy brought him out of his stunned revelation. Ventus looked suddenly small and uncertain, his blue eyes round and searching. “I’m sorry... I should’ve asked first, before doing that.”

 

“No,” Vanitas couldn’t spit the word out fast enough. Too hasty, as his exclamation made Ventus jump, his eyes going a little wider. Vanitas swallowed thickly, weighing the value of bearing his soul to that of maintaining his pride. In the end, he only had so much of the latter left, and the former he already shared with Ventus. “It... It’s fine.”

 

He found he couldn’t force himself to say more. But Ventus, bless him, somehow understood anyway. Stared quietly for almost long enough for Vanitas to doubt himself before shifting forward again, cautious, and repeating his earlier motion, brushing the dark locks of hair away from Vanitas’s face with painstaking tenderness.

 

He couldn’t relax into it. The tingling sensation came back, stronger than before when the touch lasted longer, seemed sweeter the second time, almost. It didn’t help (or maybe it did) that Ventus’s eyes stayed unwavering and intent upon him the entire time, gaze silently asking _is this okay?_ with each small movement of his hands. Vanitas was painfully, acutely aware of the fact that his own expression must have been answering yes for Ventus to continue on. Still, he found himself so tense throughout the moment that, when Ventus at last pulled away, he became conscious of the faintest tremor running through his fingers, the tips of them quivering continuously where they were clenched into his knees.

 

He eventually managed to tear his eyes from where they had somehow become fixed staring sightlessly on the small gap between their knees. He looked up to meet Ventus’s gaze once more, the soft, encompassing light of the moon making his eyes seem almost more silver than blue. His expression was still hard to read, but there was concern there, a little uncertainty in the face of what had just transpired between them.

 

He opened his mouth, and Vanitas suddenly, wildly, felt that he could not let this be acknowledged - not any more than it already had been, at least. It felt too precipitous, too raw. He shoved himself upright abruptly, nearly scrambling into a standing position and apparently startling Ventus once more in the process, as his companion leaned back involuntarily, his jaw clicking shut, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

 

“You trying to get me in trouble?” Vanitas snarked, placing his hands on his hips and ignoring the way his fingers were still trembling. “You know I promised Aqua to help with dinner, no way am I letting you throw me under the bus for being late.”

 

Ventus stared at him, slack-jawed and confused. “Van-“

 

“Get your ass up, _Venty-Wenty_ ,” he threw in offhandedly, choosing the nickname deliberately in hopes of distracting Ventus, knowing exactly how much it annoyed the blonde. “Unless you want Aqua to lecture you,” he added, turning to begin heading back up the path towards the palace.

 

Ventus huffed and scrambled to his feet somewhere behind Vanitas, quickly catching up to him and shooting him a little glare. “She won’t if she’s too busy lecturing you, _Vani-Wani_ ,” he retorted.

 

Vanitas hissed, rearing back to shove Ventus in retaliation, but the other boy had already darted off ahead, laughing to himself as he did so. Vanitas swiftly gave chase, shouting insults back and forth with his companion, and trying to shove away the scorching awareness that lingered in his skin of all the places that Ventus had touched him.


End file.
